ML

The Last Embers (Dark Steampunk/Fantasy)

glad this is still going, one of the most interesting ones around

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

Blue Deeveed

---

PERSONAL ACCOUNT

NAME: Blue Deeveed

GENDER: Female

DEPARTMENT: Ex-Electronics

AGE: 25

APPEARANCE:

Blue only has a few clothes, and has taken to heat-blasting the few she does own in an attempt to get them clean when water is unavailable. Her goggles are always around her neck, even while she sleeps. Her hair is threaded with neon-luminescent strands that glow in the absence of light, though they can be turned off via a switch at her belt.

---

RESUME

Once upon a time, Blue was what one might call a 'Tron prodigy. In a world of sparks, metal, and flashing lights, she picked up the Learned Nye's teaching faster than any of her peers. In the Wal, one learns fast or dies fast, but Blue learned the fastest. during her childhood, she was member of the Tribe of Lonex, who believed in throwing their young into brutal work weeks with impressive turnaround. This resulted in plenty of childhood creations--most of which didn't work at all--and a healthy helping of anxiety and stress. A Lonexer never had time to process: there was always work to be done, machines to strip, machines to design, etc.

As her ability became apparent, so to did the expectations required of her. In her teenage years, Blue began to recede from tribal life, so busy was she with working on the next project planned by the Elders. Her reputation and fame grew, even as her mental health dropped further and further. Her father, Great Sam bless him, did what he could, but he was often away on Tron-raids, and so she learned not to rely on him.

Then, disaster. While on a raid of her own, the first she had been a part of for a long while, she was cut off by a trio of angry, angry Smiling One cultists. Her tribe--her entire point for living, working, and creating--left her for dead. That was the first crack in the glass of her mind. So far, the only one. After a near-suicidal 'Tron attack saved her from almost certain death, she limped across the Wal in a desperate attempt at reuniting with her tribe.

But it was no use. Alone, hungry, and worse, running low on power, Blue nearly gave up on life entirely before the voice spoke to her. It was small and soft, but insistent. Something inside her drove her onward, to find that voice, get her shit together, and maybe find out where she spited the great Lonex such that he had smote her so.

The voice turned out to be a small man. He didn't move when she approached, nor when she picked him up, but he spoke to her all the same. His perpetual smile and kind words soothed her troubled mind, and for the first time in weeks, she began to pull the fragments of her thoughts back together.

She was Blue Deeveed, expert 'Tronsmith. She had done incredible things for her people, and had devoted her life to the progression of science, as she had been told. And what had it gotten her? A tribe who'd turned on her at the first sign of trouble, despite being armed with tools she'd built for them. Lonex hadn't saved her--she'd saved herself, with a little help from the man who called himself Bonk.

That was her turning point. For the years after that, Blue struck out on her own, drifting from department to department like the wind from the great fans of the Ceiling. She survived through her wits, and by making deals with anyone who needed her expertise. Her reputation had somehow spread even further than she'd expected: after her stint with the Meat department devising an automation process for sharpening their hooks, she realized that anyone in the Wal could have use of her talents.

She was Blue Deeveed, and she would become a legend greater than Lonex himself. But to do that, she had to survive.

---

RECEIPT

PERSONAL GOAL: Blue will be legend. The entirety of the Wal will know her, like Great Sam himself. She will map every corner, scale every shelf, and find out what lies beyond the walls of the Wal. All of these things, and more, in time. The Lonex will rue the day they left her out to dry, as she eclipses them to be greater than they ever dreamed.

LIKES:
+Tinkering
+Neon Lights
+Powerful 'Tron
+Electronic mice
+Music with guitar in it
+Bonk

DISLIKES:
-Neon items which are not lights
-Disciples of Edison
-Tribe of Lonex
-Irregular noise patterns
-Folding Chairs

REPUTE: Blue was well known within Lonex-and indeed the whole of Electronic--before her abandonment. That is not to say she was well-liked: as mentioned, Blue was reclusive. Even among her own people, she saw few and spoke with fewer. There was no real love between her and her tribe, but they understood that her talent and creativity were essential to their growing dominance. In the face of death, however, their true loyalty (self-preservation) was revealed.
(We've been asking a lot about how your character looks at the world, so, let's reverse it around. How does the world view your character? What status does your character have in the world?)

HEEL: Her greatest strength is her greatest weakness: Blue is driven by a need to outdo her peers. This is a hallmark of the Electronic tribes, but her isolation and constant projects have pushed this need to absurd levels. If there is a hint of something broadening her horizons or improving her reputation, Blue will find it hard to turn down.

CODE: Blue's friends are few and far between. Namely, there is Bonk, and some of the kinder souls she's met during her pilgrimage to greatness. After her abandonment, she swore to never abandon a friend in need, even at risk to herself. She was better than the Lonex, and would not stoop to their level of cowardice.

QUIRKS: To briefly break the fourth wall, we observe--of course--that Bonk is not alive. And yet, Blue believes him to be so, and carries the small toy man with her at all times. Her hair is also unique, in that she is constantly weaving in strands of different lights and technology. The lights can be of many different colors, or none at all: a pure white light.

---

PERFORMANCE REVIEW

Maker
► Blue is an inventor, a creator, and a tinkerer. Anything she is given is viewed by her as its component forms, and she carries around a set of small tools in her bag at all times. Nothing massive: a shining multitool, a pair of pliers, etc, but enough that she is able to make quick work of many things she finds during her misadventures. In fact, some who have watched her work believe that her bag must be blessed by the Great Sam himself, as any tool she needs appears to already be inside.

Weaponsmith
► Furthermore, Blue was a 'Tronsmith. She knows of the three Pillars of Nye, Electricity, Mechanery, and Reactivity. She uses this knowledge to brutal effect, crafting gleaming works of hodge-podge art that can down a dire pigeon in one shot, assuming one has the batteries to power it.

Magic Hands
► A catch-all term for the incredible dexterity and steadiness of Blue's hands, combined with great sleight of hand technique. Blue's hands are her artist's brush, and dealing a deck of cards will never be as beautiful after watching Blue's false cut.

GROCERIES

(Your character's equipment. Include as many things that you think are necessary for your character. I want the most wacky shit you can come up with. But, be reasonable, however. Don't make your character carry a microwave that can turn into a nuclear bomb.)

Kriver
► Blue's primary Tron. A gleaming hulk of silver and black metal. A Lightning Shotgun overclocked to hit anything within ten feet with a blast of lightning strong enough to fry a Dire Dog whole. Kriver requires a change of batteries after every firing, and so is often the last resort in any firefight. Devastating, with absolutely no finesse.

Cazette
► Blue's non-Tron weapon, a potent crossbow that fires razor blades through a series of multiple strings and pulleys. More accurate than Kriver, generally more accurate, and the rate of fire is high. Battery requirement is fairly low. A Freelance repairman helped her design the wooden parts of the device, while she constructed the Tronic parts (a rudimentary aiming system and auto-reloader, for example). Prone to jamming.

Bonk
► Blue's best friend and guardian. Oftentimes Bonk will wake her if danger is near, or alert her in a low voice to an oncoming threat. She protects him, and he protects her. The only family she has, not that her father is gone.

The Heirloom
► Despite all her other tools, the Heirloom is Blue's prized possession. It is a little 'Tron device with a keyboard, a mysterious source of charge, and a retracting cable. It is the key to her success, and Blue uses the Heirloom to get the internal components of her Tron to fall to her will. A gift from her father before his untimely demise, few members of Lonex have Heirlooms, instead swapping them between one another as required. In other words, a portable computer Blue uses to program Tron where necessary.

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

@Mercenary Lord

Oh my god! That was my first ever role play on this site! Long time no see man :)

@Paradoxial

Hey man nice to see you lol

Walmageddon: Shopping Spree [CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]

Oh wow I never thought I would see another one of these
roleplayerguild.com/posts/4257853
we'll keep this here for a bit and see what happens

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

H A N G O V E R

---

ET's hand flew up almost immediately in response to the threat in front of him. Fuck. He was still too hungover for this kind of shitstorm. It was two in the morning, his head was spinning, and apparently every two-bit, washed-up super in history had decided to show up at the precise minute he opened his big mouth. What are the fucking odds? Biomancer, Avant-Garde, The Tower, and a newcomer. Who was next, Silver Glory?

Do you really want to know? Gabbie asked in his head. Unbidden, the helmet slammed shut around his face, the internal HUD-lighting up with a lowpass buzz. Because--

No, I don't. Let me think. Focus on the most prevalent threat. Dave, keep the guns in the car. This is Stardust. He'd read her file. An alleged mass-murderer, incredibly powerful in her prime, and--judging from the display he'd just witnessed--still able to put a hole through him, Gabbie, and the six feet of concrete behind him. On the run, vanished into the wind.

Oh, honey! Maysah, what are you doing? His hands are up, stop being so dramatic. Ugh, this is not good for your mental health, dear. He felt a tug in his head from Stardust's direction. So sorry about this, sir. She's usually quite lovely.

Are you her phone? He asked mentally. ET didn't worry too much about time: the communications were effectively instantaneous between him and the machines, far faster than communication with humans. He thought, they responded, and nobody else knew. His head spun, eyes still shocked from the blast of Stardust’s light.

When she lets me, the voice huffed. It was mid-high frequency, and clear--clearer than most other digitals. She ignores me except when she’s trying to decide how many bad decisions she can make in a minute. A pause. Wait, you can hear me?

Only sometimes, ET lied. It was easier to start with that than to explain why he was ignoring machines. Can you do me a favor and send Maysah a text? Have it say "You can trust him, Maysah." From someone she trusts? It will help her. Well, it would help him, at least. The subtle compulsion in his words thrummed toward the phone, a silent sound in the night.

I can do that, sweetie. This was a pretty easy convince, luckily. Nobody wanted to kill or be killed here. All done! The sing-song tone in the voice was autotuned perfection. True to her word, the audio sensor in Gabbie's sensor suite detected a tiny ping and a little vibration from Maysah's direction.

Mind the munitions, mate. A new voice: this was a tug from The Tower. Where was his partner? Beacon, the lightcaster. They were normally inseparable, according to the file. No need for this to get ugly. You know your odds, eh?

ET sighed mentally. Agreed, *mate*. The voices were coming, and the buzz was going. This could get very loud, but Gabbie had his back. Gabs, can we block out the irrelevant digitals?.

You got it, handsome. The coastal waves of her voice rolled through him, and the voices from outside winked out one by one. That was one of the upgrades she'd walked him through: he had no idea how it worked, but it saved his sanity in a world of dubstep voices and digital advertisements.

Hands still in the air, he willed the helmet to collapse again. "Look," he said carefully. "I'm here from the call, same as you." His eyes darted to Addison: she seemed totally nonplussed by the cold war around her, and was holding out a set of pagers to them. Bless her, pagers. Silent, stupid, workhorse pagers. He looked back to Maysah--Stardust.

"I'm going to take one of those pagers. I'd appreciate if you don't vaporize me.."

“Since you’re here for Hex, I’m not going to stop you,” said Maysah as she stepped to the side and folded her arms over her chest. It wasn’t anything even close to an apology, and her eyes didn’t leave ET as he walked by her.

Not dead yet. Good start to the night. With an internal sigh of relief, ET took the little box from Addison, and retreated a few steps away, toward a wall. If someone was going to kill him, they could kill him looking him in the eye.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

D R I V E

---

"Edward, please stop."

Edward glared at the disassembled suit in the passenger seat. "Gabbie, d'you think you could relax for two goddamn s...seconds?" He hiccuped, fumbling again for his best friend JD. The bottle--luckily closed--had fallen out of his hand again.

"You heard the lady, boss." Dave's voice was gruff, yet melodic. Like Johnny Cash through a vocoder. "We're on the clock, ain't we? Just 'cause I'm driving don't mean you can drink yerself stupid."

"Hah, youuu are stupid," mumbled ET, taking another swig. "I'm in charge, mmmmmmhm. Ooooh Lieutenant. Me, Lieutenant." He broke off in a fit of giggles. "Don't be givin' me orders, Davey. You aren't...aren't my mom-my." More fits. Wasn't he just the funniest fuckin' guy around?

"Edward," said Gabbie. "Please! This is a new low, even for you. You were doing so well, love...what happened?" The suit blinked colors at him--red, then orange, yellow, back to red. An expression of concern from her.

"Boss, yer gonna stop drinkin', or I'm gonna take us right back to HQ." Dave's wheel twitched in front of him, but ET lacked the coordination to grasp at it. "Try explainin' to chief Ong why you didn't even make it halfway there, yeah?"

ET shuddered. Captain Ong--even trashed, ET knew his place. That woman had put down Razortooth without batting an eye. If there was a mortal woman in the entirety of the world who could match wits with supers, it was Penny Ong. No cyber, no powers; didn't stop her from making shots that ET had never seen before. Better to stay on her good side.

"Fine," ET said. He groaned and threw the bottle out the window. Dave, from previous experience, had lowered it previously. It vanished into the night, silent against the highway's roar. ET groaned again, louder this time, and threw himself back in the seat. "How long to See...Cedar Fort?"

"Three hundred and sixty miles, boss. Get comfortable." The radio buzzed briefly, then touched down at a lazy night driving station. "And don't think I dunno about yer backup stash in the back seat. Catch some zees, or meditate or somethin'. Just leave the circuitshredder alone."

ET snorted. As if he could sleep after what had happened.

---

What Had Happened

"You're going on an assignment." The file clapped down on his desk with a thump.

ET looked up from his report, meeting Captain Ong in the eyes. "Where to, captain?" He kept his voice even, but only just. Ong's tone of voice implied that she wasn't a fan of whatever came next.

"Cedar Fort," she said flatly. "There's been some whispers about a call that went out not too long ago. A hero named Hex is dead, and a police officer is trying to rally up his friends. You're going in to make sure it's not a new cult, con, or evil supergroup."

"Cedar Fort, North Carolina?" That was a long way from the Midwestern Sprawl.

Ong rolled her eyes. "No, Cedar Fort, Utah. Yes, the one in North Carolina! Second biggest standalone city in the country."

"Isn't that a bit outside our jurisdiction?" He saw the look in her eyes and realized that it didn't matter. "Okay, right. Why me?"

The captain sat down at his desk, rubbing her forehead with her hand. "As it happens," she said, "The police don't really have that many super'd options these days. They've all either retired, died, or never been with us to begin with."

That made sense. ET nodded slowly and shrugged. Most heroes either worked solo, as a part of a group, or with the military. He was one of eight supercops in the entire country, that he knew of. "I'm assuming the rest of them are busy?" he asked. He was easily the weakest super in any police force in the country.

Ong laughed, but it was an empty sound. She was too old to be polite. "Not even, Turner. You just happen to have the stealthiest and most useful powers." She tapped the file on his desk. "Read this. It's about the officer who sent out the call. One Addison Reynolds. Don't know too much about her except what the precinct there knew off hand. They also refused to tell us if she was acting under orders."

Typical police bureaucracy. ET nodded sympathetically. "Okay, so...a stakeout?" He couldn't help but feel a little slighted. He'd been on the force for years, and they were sending him on a stakeout across the country?

"Yes," Ong said, a little snappier than he expected. "And don't argue with me on this one. You're on thin ice, with some of the reports that have been coming in on you recently. This will be good for you, Turner. Don't fuck it up."

His fists clenched. Reports? Suddenly, the innocent mission seemed like an excuse. But Ong wasn't done, and he wasn't looking to get fired. Yet.

"You'll be going alone. If you need it, you'll be undercover as a friend of Hex. Your backstory is in the file too. I know you had a few years in your career where we worked with Hex a few times, so it should hold up. You'll have your car, your suit, and as much artillery as we could pack in the trunk." Ong stood, and rapped her knuckles on the desk. "Leave as soon as you can. Hotel's in the file too." Then she left, and the pit in his stomach started twisting.

---

ET's eyes cracked open. He'd slept. It was almost two in the morning.

Hangover. That's what that mindnumbing pain was. He made a noise halfway between a sigh and a moan, and turned over, fishing into the glove compartment. "Dave, where the fuck are--ah." He pulled out a pack of pills. Two thousand years of progress, and still no catch-all cure for the hangover blues. He popped the Aspirin and pulled water from the back seat. His tongue felt thick as hell, but he managed a few words. "ETA guys?"

"Morning, boss!" Dave's voice was cheery as it could be. "You'd best start slippin' into Gabs now--we'll be there in ten minutes."

"Oh, god. Dave! We've talked about phrasing!"

Gabbie didn't say anything, just opened up in the passenger seat. Of course she wasn't going to say anything. "You're both on thin ice," grumbled ET, but he slide into the other seat.

The suit zipped up around him with a set of whirring and clicking sounds, and in a few minutes he had gone from hungover to monster. He was still hungover, but now he was bulletproof hungover. "Helmet?"

"Helmet check," said Gabbie, and in the span of seconds the uncomfortable hood-thing on the back of the suit had fused together around his head. Then it retracted again, leaving his head free.

"Arms loaded?" ET tugged on the gauntlet on his left. Excellent fit, as expected. "Ah, Gabbie, you do know how to make a man feel safe."

"Thanks, hot shot. That's what they pay me for." She laughed, a kaleidoscope of digital glass. "Arms are loaded. Say the word and you'll be armed to the teeth."

"Swell." He slid back into the driver's seat and looked out the windshield. They were coming up on what looked like an abandoned warehouse. "Classic place for a meetup." Hopefully it wasn't going to turn into a classic place for a bloodbath. "All right, you two. Silence is golden until I can figure out what we're getting ourselves into, check? No distractions."

No response--good. ET swigged one more time from the water bottle, braced himself for the dizzyness, and got out of the car. It was dark, but he could see enough to know that he wasn't alone. Time to ring the bell.

"Hello?" he called. "Officer Reynolds?"

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

ET Turner - It's not about what we have, it's about what we've lost.

Name:

Edward Terrence Turner (Ed, ET - Nicknames from his friends.)

Alias:

Arbiter (Callsign in the department)

Age:

40

Powers:

Technopathy--or, more accurately, machine politician. ET hears machines the way a telepath hears people. Anything with the processing power of a microwave or higher has a voice, and Ed can hear them all. He can communicate with them, both mentally and verbally. He can give them orders, tell them jokes and insult their families, if they decide to start that flame war.

This would not normally be impressive: in 2047, AI is firmly in the center of daily life. A brain-implant could have a similar effect, letting someone see nearby signals and interact with them. What is impressive is ET's complete disregard for encryption and safeguards. It doesn't matter if a computer network is RSA-encrypted; if ET convinces the network to help him out, those Top Secret files suddenly become public domain. In this regard, he is the greatest and most well-rounded hacker and programmer to ever live.

To top it off, ET has a quasi-hypnotic tendency with machines. Although not enough to assume control over most high-end technology, machines have an odd urge to listen to him, even if they disagree with his statements.

Some machines have more personality than others. Cell phones often display human-like personalities, but alarm clocks only shout one phrase. All the time. Smart firearms and military platforms tend to be about in the middle of the intelligence spectrum. These are his biggest strength on the force: Smartillery^TM firearms love chaos, even if it means shooting their owner in the foot (or not firing at all on the trigger pull).

ET's secondary ability is invention, repair, and improvement to specific machines. He is not gifted as a mechanic, but the highly-intelligent machines he works on give him all the instruction he needs. He is also able to physically reprogram software by convincing it to change. The technological advances he's pulled out of his workshop have been nothing short of miraculous, and he still has no idea how he made them.

Weaknesses:

Without his gear, ET is just a man, albeit a fit one with a machine-enhanced advantage. A fireball to the face is going to burn him, a long fall will kill him, and a bullet will put him down, same as anyone else.

His technopathy also comes with some caveats. The machines ET speaks to are highly opinionated, often argumentative, and frequently uncooperative. Order a toilet to flush from across the room, and it might just blow a raspberry and change the color of its internal lighting. His powers are directly tied to his ability to think like machines, and convince them to do his bidding.

Furthermore, although he's had plenty of tangible proof of his powers, ET is constantly worried that he is just schizophrenic. If not for a world of heroes and villains, he likely would have checked himself in long ago. It's always been sunshine and rainclouds: in the machine world, humans are frequently the enemy. Monkey-like slavers. The bigots of the machine world can be downright psychotic, and they are very loud, and very convincing. He's learned to tune out the extremist voices over the years. For most machines, he is capable of suppressing their voices through a force of will. Sometimes, focusing on something else is enough. Other times, he turns to more...effective measures.

Appearance:

Are ET's forehead tattoos what make him memorable? Is it his strong jaw paired with piercing eyes? Generally, it's his being built like a six-foot two brick shithouse. The tattoos are usually noticed second to his size: three black lines on either side of his head. A memory of a better time.

On good days, ET is a straight-backed man with crisp dress shirts, rolled-up sleeves, and a no-nonsense watch on the left wrist. He moves with precision and dexterity, commands the attention of any room, and exudes charisma enough to charm a cobra. His voice is deep and clear, straddling baritone and bass and humming with authority.

On bad days, ET's identifying trait is the smell of alcohol. At work, the man has enough self preservation to stay in his office, delegating to his assistant and making excuses to his superiors. The fewer people that see him in his disheveled, red-eyed state, the better. His hands shake, his eyes dart traitorously, and his ears turn a curiously noticeable shade of red.

When on patrol, ET wears his MC-PD uniform and body armor, with a helmet meant to insulate against physical and mental (i.e. telepathic) attacks. He carries a sidearm with no electronics as a backup to his primary smartgun--after the Thunderhead incident in 2042, ET trusts smartguns about as far as they can throw themselves.

Off duty, he wears jeans, t-shirts, and shorts like any other resident of the Midwestern Sprawl. He is partial to briefcases over the younger, more-hip messenger bags.

Equipment:

ET is decked out in a state-of-the-art, milspec body armor named Gabbie. Yes, it--she--talks to him. Officially titled "Guardian Angel Blue V3", Gabbie's outer shell is made of a graphene-kevlar weave commonplace in 2047 military and police body armor.

She is slash-proof, fireproof, bullet resistant, and EMP-hardened, with an onboard exo-skeleton for muscle-enhancement, preloaded stim-injectors, even has a built in parachute. A single set of GAB-V3 is worth more money than ET will ever make, and she knows that she's too good for him. She also may have a passionate unrequited crush on him, and is none-too-good at hiding it. Gabbie inhabits his cell-phone, somehow suppressing the original persona and making it her own.

His second partner is his SUV, a Ford-Honda Automotive Explorer named Dave. Dave, to put it bluntly, is a monster. Armored and armed to the teeth and down the throat, Dave is bullet-proof, tilt-proof, ice-proof, fire-proof, death-proof. Nothing short of explosive ordinance will even slow Dave down. The SUV has gotten ET out of more scrapes than either of them can count. Although he doesn't know it, this Dave is actually Dave 2. ET doesn't talk much about the original, human Dave. Dave inhabits ET's computer, suppressing the original persona in a similar fashion to Gabbie.

To that end, in most cases ET only deals with Gabbie and Dave on a day-to-day basis (and any machines he encounters on patrol). Although his smartgun talks, and his microwave talks, and the fridge at work talks, they are fairly low-intelligence personas, and he is able to brush them off easily.

Both Gabbie and Dave have been upgraded by ET according to their precise desires, and no other officer in the department has even half the efficiency of ET and his gear. He's got top marks across the board, from pursuit driving to evidence gathering to close quarters combat.

He wears a depowered ring from his retired friend "Mentalist" with him wherever he goes. When active, it provided him with a directly line to the hero, and helped to shut out the voices of the undesirables around him. ET hopes that the ring might suddenly become active once again in the future, and save him from himself again.

Lastly, ET keeps a silver-engraved flask of remarkable quality in his desk at the headquarters. Logically, if he's going to drink himself into an early grave, he may as well do so with pizazz.

Origin:

Youth

May 2004: a small hospital in Des Moines saw the birth of a baby boy. He weighed nine pounds, crying mightily with well-developed lungs. His parents took him home, struggled through the first two years of parenthood, and moved to Indianapolis in 2006, when the boy's father was offered a high-paying civil engineering career. This boy was named David Logan Turner, the firstborn of Addie and James Turner.

Edward Terrence Turner was born in 2007, in a medium-sized hospital of an Indiana suburb. He was born a month early and a pound light, but that didn't stop him from crying enough to match his older brother. A family trait, it seemed. After coming home, Edward quickly grew into his place among the Turners. Not one of them was below five foot nine, and as his years grew older, so did his height. By middle school, it was unthinkable that he wouldn't join the football team. As a high-school senior, Dave welcomed his younger brother with open arms, shielding the freshman from any would-be bullies until his brother found his place in the high school hierarchy.

Ed's propensity for sports didn't excuse him from his studies: Addie Turner, a schoolteacher herself, made sure that her sons studied well, and studied hard. Edward never showed the same inclination for STEM as his older brother, but their mutual interest in the outdoors formed a strong bond between the two young men. The family went camping almost weekly, and by his graduation, Edward had seen the entire country, from Yosemite to Mammoth Cave.

Throughout his youth, Edward always had his family to use as role models for himself. The Turners were friendly, kind, and always looking for laughter in life. He saw the moral code of his mother and father, and adopted it unto himself. On the football team, others gravitated toward the principled young man, despite his sometimes inflexible opinions and pig-headed stubbornness.

College

A surprise football scholarship saw Edward following his brother to Ball State University, where he majored in criminal justice, just as expected. Also unexpectedly, he decided to join his brother's fraternity, where he earned the name ET.

The Name

"Easy there, buddy. Remember last night? If you puke on the walls again, Robbie's gonna throw a chair at you."

"Ah fuck off, Edward. You--you're not my gahdam dad."

"Listen to yourself, Diego: you slur your words any more and you might as well not talk at all."

"Hah, talk talk talk. You might as well my ass, Ed. Eddy. ET. Always gotta phone home, more like phone drone. Hah! HAHA!" Diego nearly fell over from the laughter.

Edward couldn't help laughing too. He was a little buzzed too. "Heh, that's actually not bad, Diego. Hey, do me a favor man?"

"Sure bro, what's--yo what the fuck, man! Put me down!"

"Nah dude, ET is sending you home. Throw up in your own room!"

"You motherfucker, put me down! Or I'll..throw up in your hair."

"Diego, I'll fuckin' throw you out a window."

His willingness to get black-out trashed one night and be designated driver the next led to much popularity with his brothers. Junior and senior year saw ET become the president of his fraternity, a decent college footballer, and a 3.4 GPA criminal justice graduate. The next step was easy, of course: police academy. But not before Dave took him on a trip to celebrate his college survival.

The Trip

"Shut up, I saw you checking her out from a mile away." Dave grinned easily behind the wheel.

"Like fuck you did, man. ET laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his seat. "We ain't all as thirsty as your parched ass."

"Oh no, you're not getting away that easily, brother of mine." Dave shifted in his seat, and the V8 roared in the truck's hood. "I'm the older one, we know these things. Like when our little baby boy brothers drink with their eyes at a Montana diner."

"Yeah well, you're allowed to be wrong, Dave." ET rolled his eyes, barely holding back laughter. "How long we have left?"

Dave just snorted, reaching out to the radio. "Probably another five hours. GPS say six, but we have five hours to prove it wrong." The radio clicked on, and ET groaned. "Dude, this is ten years old--how do you always find the weirdest shit to play?

"Listen here, buddy." Dave glanced in the rearview mirror. "When you drive, you can play your intellipop or whatever the rage is nowadays. Until then, I'm playing classics. This song is nothing short of a miracle!"

"If we get to Glacier National without me killing you, that'd be a real miracle."

"Love you too, Eddie-pie."

Boys in Blue

The two highlights of the police academy were the end, and Erin. They met halfway through, where she punched him in several unpleasant places during a spar. They were inseparable after that. For the next two years, they went through training and probation by each others sides. After being officially instated, ET proposed to her on the way back to their apartment.

After a quiet, quick ceremony, they moved on with their lives, ready to serve and protect. For years, they did just that, working alongside the department and the supers, trying to maintain order in a burning world. With sea levels rising, and climate change rampant, what used to be the Midwest saw a hefty influx of refugees.

Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and other cities grew massively in size. The coalition of states with these cities decided it would be simpler to pool their resources, and the "Midwestern City" initiative was launched in 2038. Both ET and Erin were asked to join the MC-PD, a SWAT-like peacekeeping force which traveled between the cities in the Midwestern Sprawl. The couple had no time for children, but they had one another, and that was enough.

In 2039, Ed's quiet routine was shattered out of the blue. To this day, he has no idea what caused him to manifest his abilities.

Manifestation

"What was that, Kevin?"

"Didn't say anything, boss." The rookie took another bite out of the doughnut. "Thanks for the pick-me-up, though."

"Yeah, anytime..." ET strained his ear again. He was certain he'd heard something--

"Oy, you 'aving a stroke? I said 'take me out of your pocket!'.

Edward jumped. "I'll uh...gonna step out for a sec, Kevin. Sit tight."

"Aye cap'n. Sitting tight."

ET stepped out of the car with a frown on his face. "What the fuck is happening?" He felt his cell phone buzz, and he pulled it out almost automatically.

Finally! the voice said again. ET's phone dropped from shocked fingers to the ground. Ow, bloody hell! You tryin' ta start something, mate? We'll fuckin' start something right here!

"Oh, cool," ET said, stooping to pick up the phone. "I've cracked. I wondered if it would happen. All the stress, all the work, I--"

Look, I don't know what you're on about, but I wanted to tell you that I'm gettin' knackered. You gonna charge me soon or what?

ET glanced down. Fifteen percent. "How did I--" he shook his head. "Hey Phone, call 'Mentalist'."

Maybe I will, maybe I won't. You plannin' to ask nicely mate?

His eyes closed, and he inhaled a shaky breath. "Call Mentalist. Please?"

The voice didn't respond, but a moment later Mentalist's number popped up on the screen. "Hello, Mentalist? This is Officer Turner--we've met a few times? Yeah, that's right. Look, some Fweird shit is happening to me, and you were the first person I thought to call. Yeah, I can do that. Thanks. I'll be there."

The rest is history. After his manifestation, ET suddenly became a person of great interest within the Midwestern Sprawl. They had their heroes, of course, but only a few were directly employed by the police. Even fewer had powers as useful to police operations as "Arbiter". For five years, he enjoyed a quasi-celebrity status, working with the FBI, CIA, even Interpol to catch hackers and high-tech criminals. Tech-based supervillains were another specialty of his, as more and more people sought to use the chaos of the world to their own ends.

---

In 2042, a wave of crime unlike anything before swept the Midwestern Sprawl. A new drug called Zing hit the streets, turning users into walking EMP bursts as their bodies lit up from the inside out. A gang called Thunderhead followed on its heels, carrying out organized robberies in three different MC Districts simultaneously.

Someone in the gang knew about Arbiter and his abilities: a day after the first wave of robberies, an image popped up on ET's phone. A picture of Dave, bleeding and forced into a trunk. A message: STAY HOME, HOTSHOT. The ice in ET's veins that day hasn't been matched since.

Of course he didn't stay home. That was ET's trigger to warpath, and throughout the next month he spent every waking moment hunting down Thunderhead's leaders. The fuckers who brought his brother, an innocent mechanic in Wisconsin, into a turf war.

He found what he was looking for: the leader of the cult-turned-gang, a super calling himself "Corrector". A scientist and hypnotic influencer, Corrector had decided the world was rotted with sin and set about removing as many of the instigators--read: humans--as possible. Those who heard his voice while looking him in the eyes fell under a near unbreakable thrall. To ET's horror, he found himself up against innocents. Corrupted fathers and sisters and children who couldn't stop themselves from following Corrector into oblivion.

They were not quiet in their adulation, and so subtlety was not Thunderhead's strong suit. Bombings, shootings, robberies--those were the calling card. Heroes from across the world were called in, but help would take too long to arrive. After a tip in September of that year, ET and his team moved on Corrector in Toledo.

Debriefing

"Please state your name for the record, officer."

"Edward Turner. Arbiter."

"Officer Turner, we've met with you today to obtain a debriefing for the MC-PD chief of police, state governors, and the congressional committee assigned to this event. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Start from the beginning and walk us through what happened, if you would. Take your time."

"Yes, sir. Common knowledge: you already knew that we had located Corrector--Lars Jensen--in Toldeo two weeks ago. Superhero reinforcement was coming, but we had learned of Jensen's plan to take Toldeo off the map, and we couldn't wait around for reinforcement. Something about Zing in the gas lines. Don't know, Inspector. I'm not a scientist."

"Who authorized the mission? Were you acting against any standing orders?"

"No, sir. Chief Brandt gave us permission to engage. As I'm sure he's told you, my team was best equipped to handle superheroes, given my...abilities, and the training and gear provided to my team."

"I'm aware of your abilities, Officer Turner. We have taken proper precautions to mitigate them in this debriefing, such that the higher-ups have no reason to doubt what you tell us here."

"It's not like I'm a fucking suspect, am I?" A sigh. "I apologize, inspector. I'm keyed up right now."

"That's all right, Turner. Please continue."

"Excuse my French, but Toldeo was a shitshow we were attacked as soon as we went in, and if we hadn't been driving ancient junkers pulled out of an evidence lot, we would have been dead in the water from the start. The smart people had locked their doors and hunkered down. The riot police were doing their best, but maniacal zealots are a tough crowd.

"We had a theory that taking out Corrector would break his hold on everyone else. We had an idea of where he'd be. We just had to find him. I'll skip the legwork, since it's in my report--most of this shit is, actually--and tell you that we found him. Well, I found him. Followed the trail of dead machinery and ended up in an old warehouse outside of town. Jensen was there."

"There was a shoot on sight order for Lars Jensen. Why did you hold your fire, as the e-ballistics report said?"

"Hah! Don't give me that bullshit. You know as well as I do that they got to someone in the Ruger-HK Operations division. Smartguns down mean shit when the software on them shuts down."

"Are you not able to...speak to firearms? Couldn't you have convinced it to work?"

"Not if it isn't fucking on, agent. This is starting to seem a lot like an interrogation."

"We just want the facts, Officer Turner."

"Yeah well, the facts are that the fucker turned my brother into one of his drones. Even if I could have got the damn gun working, you can't honestly tell me that I was supposed to shoot my own brother in cold blood."

"We all must do unpleasant things for the greater good, Officer. Please con--"

"The greater good? Are you fucking serious? Was t-boning my brother and Corrector off a fucking BRIDGE not enough greater good for you? Was my saving the entire population of fucking Toldeo not enough GREATER GOOD for you? Who the FUCK do you think you are?"

"Officer Turner, I must ask that you--"

"No, you fucking piece of shit! Have you ever lost a single god damn person in your life?" A dry heave. "Do you have a sibling? H-have you seen their dead fucking eyes staring at you as they fall to their fucking death? D-don't. Fucking. Tell me to do anything, you--"

RECORDING END.

Recent Times

After the Thunderhead incident, the MC-PD was given far more funding to avoid any future repeats. Top of the line equipment and gear. Arbiter was given the GAB-V3 suit and his new car a few months after the incident, and for the past five years, he has been trying to recover. Poorly. Erin did her best, but in the end she couldn't stay with someone so blatantly self destructive. Edward isn't sure where she left to. Maybe Cedar Fort or NYC.

That was the catalyst to start him back toward his feet. Too little, too late for their marriage, but just in time to save ET's liver from total annihilation. With a little bit of luck, he might make it back to a functioning adult in a few years.

For now, though...

Personality:

ET had a brother once. He's dead now, and it was ET's fault. That memory is years old, but still fresh as yesterday. It colors his world, draining the joy from his work, his hobbies, and his social life. Despite this, ET is a stubborn bastard, and the saying "time heals all wounds" is his modus operandi. His brother would have beat his ass for moping so much.

He goes to therapy (court-ordered, of course), and lives life one day at a time. Going through the motions, and all that. He is stubborn, and at the stage in his life where keeping his mind open to differing opinions is getting a little bit harder.

Before Dave's death, ET was the life of any party. That former fraternity president shines through on the good days; a dash of confidence bolstering his jovial laugh and a friendly smile. Professional, but quick to joke. He always had a listening ear for anyone who needed it, and a quick turn of phrase to bring a smile to their face.

Despite his slightly over-the-top actions in college and the recent slippage of his ethics, Ed has always possessed a strong sense of morality. In college he had another nickname: "Judge Turner". Constantly stopping others from making mistakes, and talking his fraternity brothers out of doing things that were unacceptable to his moral code (being big and built helped give ET's words some merit with his brothers). People went to his parties to enjoy themselves, and it was the responsibility of everyone hosting the party to protect the party-goers from unfavorable events.

Most of that is gone now. The decisions he made that led to his brother's death have left him more...flexible in where the line is drawn. The result matters more now, and making excuses for his actions is easier than reining them in. A gangbanger with a broken leg is less likely to run away and kill someone's brother, after all. The computer is on his side, anyway: any record of wrongdoing tends to vanish without notice.

Maybe in the future, Ed will rediscover the paragon he used to be. Until then, the rugged stubborn exterior works well enough to hide the internal struggle. The therapy is helping, and an inkling of the former social butterfly is coming through. And on the bad days, alcohol is always a good patch his self-loathing, right?

Misc Facts:

Addie and James Turner no longer live in the Midwest. ET convinced his parents to retire to Colorado when the Midwestern Sprawl started getting dangerous.

He is divorced from a fellow police officer.

He starts and stops going to AA meetings with some frequency.

His therapist's name is Sonya, a thirty-five year old woman with a wife, a child of her own, and a devilish wit. She keeps him honest.

Unlike many of the other heroes, Edward has always been one-hundred percent a team player. Not powerful enough to go solo, he relies on his experience, wit, gear, and training as much as his powers.

Relationship with Hex:

Frankly, ET hardly knew Hex. The man was a minor presence in the Midwestern Sprawl, and never really had anything to do with ET and his team. As a pre-powered younger officer, Hex pulled him out of more than a few tight spots, supporting the fledgling MC-PD in its struggle to maintain order. Other than that, they were effectively strangers.

---

Character List:
ET
Gabbie - ET's armor suit/cell phone
Dave - ET's car/laptop
Captain Ong - ET's superior
Stardust's cellphone - friendly, apologetic for Maysah. Easily convinced.
The Tower's cybernetics - dapper, calm, and polite, but unwaveringly loyal to Tower.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

Moved down here as a "finished" product.

It's not about what we have, it's about what we've lost.

Name:

Edward Terrence Turner (Ed, ET - Nicknames from his friends.)

Alias:

Arbiter (Callsign in the department)

Age:

40

Powers:

Technopathy--or, more accurately, machine politician. ET hears machines the way a telepath hears people. Anything with the processing power of a microwave or higher has a voice, and Ed can hear them all. He can communicate with them, both mentally and verbally. He can give them orders, tell them jokes and insult their families, if they decide to start that flame war.

This would not normally be impressive: in 2047, AI is firmly in the center of daily life. A brain-implant could have a similar effect, letting someone see nearby signals and interact with them. What is impressive is ET's complete disregard for encryption and safeguards. It doesn't matter if a computer network is RSA-encrypted; if ET convinces the network to help him out, those Top Secret files suddenly become public domain. In this regard, he is the greatest and most well-rounded hacker and programmer to ever live.

To top it off, ET has a quasi-hypnotic tendency with machines. Although not enough to assume control over most high-end technology, machines have an odd urge to listen to him, even if they disagree with his statements.

Some machines have more personality than others. Cell phones often display human-like personalities, but alarm clocks only shout one phrase. All the time. Smart firearms and military platforms tend to be about in the middle of the intelligence spectrum. These are his biggest strength on the force: Smartillery^TM firearms love chaos, even if it means shooting their owner in the foot (or not firing at all on the trigger pull).

ET's secondary ability is invention, repair, and improvement to specific machines. He is not gifted as a mechanic, but the highly-intelligent machines he works on give him all the instruction he needs. He is also able to physically reprogram software by convincing it to change. The technological advances he's pulled out of his workshop have been nothing short of miraculous, and he still has no idea how he made them.

Weaknesses:

Without his gear, ET is just a man, albeit a fit one with a machine-enhanced advantage. A fireball to the face is going to burn him, a long fall will kill him, and a bullet will put him down, same as anyone else.

His technopathy also comes with some caveats. The machines ET speaks to are highly opinionated, often argumentative, and frequently uncooperative. Order a toilet to flush from across the room, and it might just blow a raspberry and change the color of its internal lighting. His powers are directly tied to his ability to think like machines, and convince them to do his bidding.

Furthermore, although he's had plenty of tangible proof of his powers, ET is constantly worried that he is just schizophrenic. If not for a world of heroes and villains, he likely would have checked himself in long ago. It's always been sunshine and rainclouds: in the machine world, humans are frequently the enemy. Monkey-like slavers. The bigots of the machine world can be downright psychotic, and they are very loud, and very convincing. He's learned to tune out the extremist voices over the years. For most machines, he is capable of suppressing their voices through a force of will. Sometimes, focusing on something else is enough. Other times, he turns to more...effective measures.

Appearance:

Are ET's forehead tattoos what make him memorable? Is it his strong jaw paired with piercing eyes? Generally, it's his being built like a six-foot two brick shithouse. The tattoos are usually noticed second to his size: three black lines on either side of his head. A memory of a better time.

On good days, ET is a straight-backed man with crisp dress shirts, rolled-up sleeves, and a no-nonsense watch on the left wrist. He moves with precision and dexterity, commands the attention of any room, and exudes charisma enough to charm a cobra. His voice is deep and clear, straddling baritone and bass and humming with authority.

On bad days, ET's identifying trait is the smell of alcohol. At work, the man has enough self preservation to stay in his office, delegating to his assistant and making excuses to his superiors. The fewer people that see him in his disheveled, red-eyed state, the better. His hands shake, his eyes dart traitorously, and his ears turn a curiously noticeable shade of red.

When on patrol, ET wears his MC-PD uniform and body armor, with a helmet meant to insulate against physical and mental (i.e. telepathic) attacks. He carries a sidearm with no electronics as a backup to his primary smartgun--after the Thunderhead incident in 2042, ET trusts smartguns about as far as they can throw themselves.

Off duty, he wears jeans, t-shirts, and shorts like any other resident of the Midwestern Sprawl. He is partial to briefcases over the younger, more-hip messenger bags.

Equipment:

ET is decked out in a state-of-the-art, milspec body armor named Gabbie. Yes, it--she--talks to him. Officially titled "Guardian Angel Blue V3", Gabbie's outer shell is made of a graphene-kevlar weave commonplace in 2047 military and police body armor.

She is slash-proof, fireproof, bullet resistant, and EMP-hardened, with an onboard exo-skeleton for muscle-enhancement, preloaded stim-injectors, even has a built in parachute. A single set of GAB-V3 is worth more money than ET will ever make, and she knows that she's too good for him. She also may have a passionate unrequited crush on him, and is none-too-good at hiding it. Gabbie inhabits his cell-phone, somehow suppressing the original persona and making it her own.

His second partner is his SUV, a Ford-Honda Automotive Explorer named Dave. Dave, to put it bluntly, is a monster. Armored and armed to the teeth and down the throat, Dave is bullet-proof, tilt-proof, ice-proof, fire-proof, death-proof. Nothing short of explosive ordinance will even slow Dave down. The SUV has gotten ET out of more scrapes than either of them can count. Although he doesn't know it, this Dave is actually Dave 2. ET doesn't talk much about the original, human Dave. Dave inhabits ET's computer, suppressing the original persona in a similar fashion to Gabbie.

To that end, in most cases ET only deals with Gabbie and Dave on a day-to-day basis (and any machines he encounters on patrol). Although his smartgun talks, and his microwave talks, and the fridge at work talks, they are fairly low-intelligence personas, and he is able to brush them off easily.

Both Gabbie and Dave have been upgraded by ET according to their precise desires, and no other officer in the department has even half the efficiency of ET and his gear. He's got top marks across the board, from pursuit driving to evidence gathering to close quarters combat.

He wears a depowered Hex ring with him wherever he goes. When active, it provided him with a directly line to the hero, and helped to shut out the voices of the undesirables around him. ET hopes that the ring might suddenly become active once again in the future, and save him from himself again.

Lastly, ET keeps a silver-engraved flask of remarkable quality in his desk at the headquarters. Logically, if he's going to drink himself into an early grave, he may as well do so with pizazz.

Origin:

Youth

May 2004: a small hospital in Des Moines saw the birth of a baby boy. He weighed nine pounds, crying mightily with well-developed lungs. His parents took him home, struggled through the first two years of parenthood, and moved to Indianapolis in 2006, when the boy's father was offered a high-paying civil engineering career. This boy was named David Logan Turner, the firstborn of Addie and James Turner.

Edward Terrence Turner was born in 2007, in a medium-sized hospital of an Indiana suburb. He was born a month early and a pound light, but that didn't stop him from crying enough to match his older brother. A family trait, it seemed. After coming home, Edward quickly grew into his place among the Turners. Not one of them was below five foot nine, and as his years grew older, so did his height. By middle school, it was unthinkable that he wouldn't join the football team. As a high-school senior, Dave welcomed his younger brother with open arms, shielding the freshman from any would-be bullies until his brother found his place in the high school hierarchy.

Ed's propensity for sports didn't excuse him from his studies: Addie Turner, a schoolteacher herself, made sure that her sons studied well, and studied hard. Edward never showed the same inclination for STEM as his older brother, but their mutual interest in the outdoors formed a strong bond between the two young men. The family went camping almost weekly, and by his graduation, Edward had seen the entire country, from Yosemite to Mammoth Cave.

Throughout his youth, Edward always had his family to use as role models for himself. The Turners were friendly, kind, and always looking for laughter in life. He saw the moral code of his mother and father, and adopted it unto himself. On the football team, others gravitated toward the principled young man, despite his sometimes inflexible opinions and pig-headed stubbornness.

College

A surprise football scholarship saw Edward following his brother to Ball State University, where he majored in criminal justice, just as expected. Also unexpectedly, he decided to join his brother's fraternity, where he earned the name ET.

The Name

"Easy there, buddy. Remember last night? If you puke on the walls again, Robbie's gonna throw a chair at you."

"Ah fuck off, Edward. You--you're not my gahdam dad."

"Listen to yourself, Diego: you slur your words any more and you might as well not talk at all."

"Hah, talk talk talk. You might as well my ass, Ed. Eddy. ET. Always gotta phone home, more like phone drone. Hah! HAHA!" Diego nearly fell over from the laughter.

Edward couldn't help laughing too. He was a little buzzed too. "Heh, that's actually not bad, Diego. Hey, do me a favor man?"

"Sure bro, what's--yo what the fuck, man! Put me down!"

"Nah dude, ET is sending you home. Throw up in your own room!"

"You motherfucker, put me down! Or I'll..throw up in your hair."

"Diego, I'll fuckin' throw you out a window."

His willingness to get black-out trashed one night and be designated driver the next led to much popularity with his brothers. Junior and senior year saw ET become the president of his fraternity, a decent college footballer, and a 3.4 GPA criminal justice graduate. The next step was easy, of course: police academy. But not before Dave took him on a trip to celebrate his college survival.

The Trip

"Shut up, I saw you checking her out from a mile away." Dave grinned easily behind the wheel.

"Like fuck you did, man. ET laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his seat. "We ain't all as thirsty as your parched ass."

"Oh no, you're not getting away that easily, brother of mine." Dave shifted in his seat, and the V8 roared in the truck's hood. "I'm the older one, we know these things. Like when our little baby boy brothers drink with their eyes at a Montana diner."

"Yeah well, you're allowed to be wrong, Dave." ET rolled his eyes, barely holding back laughter. "How long we have left?"

Dave just snorted, reaching out to the radio. "Probably another five hours. GPS say six, but we have five hours to prove it wrong." The radio clicked on, and ET groaned. "Dude, this is ten years old--how do you always find the weirdest shit to play?

"Listen here, buddy." Dave glanced in the rearview mirror. "When you drive, you can play your intellipop or whatever the rage is nowadays. Until then, I'm playing classics. This song is nothing short of a miracle!"

"If we get to Glacier National without me killing you, that'd be a real miracle."

"Love you too, Eddie-pie."

Boys in Blue

The two highlights of the police academy were the end, and Erin. They met halfway through, where she punched him in several unpleasant places during a spar. They were inseparable after that. For the next two years, they went through training and probation by each others sides. After being officially instated, ET proposed to her on the way back to their apartment.

After a quiet, quick ceremony, they moved on with their lives, ready to serve and protect. For years, they did just that, working alongside the department and the supers, trying to maintain order in a burning world. With sea levels rising, and climate change rampant, what used to be the Midwest saw a hefty influx of refugees.

Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, and other cities grew massively in size. The coalition of states with these cities decided it would be simpler to pool their resources, and the "Midwestern City" initiative was launched in 2038. Both ET and Erin were asked to join the MC-PD, a SWAT-like peacekeeping force which traveled between the cities in the Midwestern Sprawl. The couple had no time for children, but they had one another, and that was enough.

In 2039, Ed's quiet routine was shattered out of the blue. To this day, he has no idea what caused him to manifest his abilities.

Manifestation

"What was that, Kevin?"

"Didn't say anything, boss." The rookie took another bite out of the doughnut. "Thanks for the pick-me-up, though."

"Yeah, anytime..." ET strained his ear again. He was certain he'd heard something--

"Oy, you 'aving a stroke? I said 'take me out of your pocket!'.

Edward jumped. "I'll uh...gonna step out for a sec, Kevin. Sit tight."

"Aye cap'n. Sitting tight."

ET stepped out of the car with a frown on his face. "What the fuck is happening?" He felt his cell phone buzz, and he pulled it out almost automatically.

Finally! the voice said again. ET's phone dropped from shocked fingers to the ground. Ow, bloody hell! You tryin' ta start something, mate? We'll fuckin' start something right here!

"Oh, cool," ET said, stooping to pick up the phone. "I've cracked. I wondered if it would happen. All the stress, all the work, I--"

Look, I don't know what you're on about, but I wanted to tell you that I'm gettin' knackered. You gonna charge me soon or what?

ET glanced down. Fifteen percent. "How did I--" he shook his head. "Hey Phone, call 'Hex'."

Maybe I will, maybe I won't. You plannin' to ask nicely mate?

His eyes closed, and he inhaled a shaky breath. "Call Hex. Please?"

The voice didn't respond, but a moment later Hex's number popped up on the screen. "Hello, Hex? This is Officer Turner--we've met a few times? Yeah, that's right. Look, some weird shit is happening to me, and you were the first person I thought to call. Yeah, I can do that. Thanks. I'll be there."

The rest is history. After his manifestation, ET suddenly became a person of great interest within the Midwestern Sprawl. They had their heroes, of course, but only a few were directly employed by the police. Even fewer had powers as useful to police operations as "Arbiter". For five years, he enjoyed a quasi-celebrity status, working with the FBI, CIA, even Interpol to catch hackers and high-tech criminals. Tech-based supervillains were another specialty of his, as more and more people sought to use the chaos of the world to their own ends.

---

In 2042, a wave of crime unlike anything before swept the Midwestern Sprawl. A new drug called Zing hit the streets, turning users into walking EMP bursts as their bodies lit up from the inside out. A gang called Thunderhead followed on its heels, carrying out organized robberies in three different MC Districts simultaneously.

Someone in the gang knew about Arbiter and his abilities: a day after the first wave of robberies, an image popped up on ET's phone. A picture of Dave, bleeding and forced into a trunk. A message: STAY HOME, HOTSHOT. The ice in ET's veins that day hasn't been matched since.

Of course he didn't stay home. That was ET's trigger to warpath, and throughout the next month he spent every waking moment hunting down Thunderhead's leaders. The fuckers who brought his brother, an innocent mechanic in Wisconsin, into a turf war.

He found what he was looking for: the leader of the cult-turned-gang, a super calling himself "Corrector". A scientist and hypnotic influencer, Corrector had decided the world was rotted with sin and set about removing as many of the instigators--read: humans--as possible. Those who heard his voice while looking him in the eyes fell under a near unbreakable thrall. To ET's horror, he found himself up against innocents. Corrupted fathers and sisters and children who couldn't stop themselves from following Corrector into oblivion.

They were not quiet in their adulation, and so subtlety was not Thunderhead's strong suit. Bombings, shootings, robberies--those were the calling card. Heroes from across the world were called in, but help would take too long to arrive. After a tip in September of that year, ET and his team moved on Corrector in Toledo.

Debriefing

"Please state your name for the record, officer."

"Edward Turner. Arbiter."

"Officer Turner, we've met with you today to obtain a debriefing for the MC-PD chief of police, state governors, and the congressional committee assigned to this event. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Start from the beginning and walk us through what happened, if you would. Take your time."

"Yes, sir. Common knowledge: you already knew that we had located Corrector--Lars Jensen--in Toldeo two weeks ago. Superhero reinforcement was coming, but we had learned of Jensen's plan to take Toldeo off the map, and we couldn't wait around for reinforcement. Something about Zing in the gas lines. Don't know, Inspector. I'm not a scientist."

"Who authorized the mission? Were you acting against any standing orders?"

"No, sir. Chief Brandt gave us permission to engage. As I'm sure he's told you, my team was best equipped to handle superheroes, given my...abilities, and the training and gear provided to my team."

"I'm aware of your abilities, Officer Turner. We have taken proper precautions to mitigate them in this debriefing, such that the higher-ups have no reason to doubt what you tell us here."

"It's not like I'm a fucking suspect, am I?" A sigh. "I apologize, inspector. I'm keyed up right now."

"That's all right, Turner. Please continue."

"Excuse my French, but Toldeo was a shitshow we were attacked as soon as we went in, and if we hadn't been driving ancient junkers pulled out of an evidence lot, we would have been dead in the water from the start. The smart people had locked their doors and hunkered down. The riot police were doing their best, but maniacal zealots are a tough crowd.

"We had a theory that taking out Corrector would break his hold on everyone else. We had an idea of where he'd be. We just had to find him. I'll skip the legwork, since it's in my report--most of this shit is, actually--and tell you that we found him. Well, I found him. Followed the trail of dead machinery and ended up in an old warehouse outside of town. Jensen was there."

"There was a shoot on sight order for Lars Jensen. Why did you hold your fire, as the e-ballistics report said?"

"Hah! Don't give me that bullshit. You know as well as I do that they got to someone in the Ruger-HK Operations division. Smartguns down mean shit when the software on them shuts down."

"Are you not able to...speak to firearms? Couldn't you have convinced it to work?"

"Not if it isn't fucking on, agent. This is starting to seem a lot like an interrogation."

"We just want the facts, Officer Turner."

"Yeah well, the facts are that the fucker turned my brother into one of his drones. Even if I could have got the damn gun working, you can't honestly tell me that I was supposed to shoot my own brother in cold blood."

"We all must do unpleasant things for the greater good, Officer. Please con--"

"The greater good? Are you fucking serious? Was t-boning my brother and Corrector off a fucking BRIDGE not enough greater good for you? Was my saving the entire population of fucking Toldeo not enough GREATER GOOD for you? Who the FUCK do you think you are?"

"Officer Turner, I must ask that you--"

"No, you fucking piece of shit! Have you ever lost a single god damn person in your life?" A dry heave. "Do you have a sibling? H-have you seen their dead fucking eyes staring at you as they fall to their fucking death? D-don't. Fucking. Tell me to do anything, you--"

RECORDING END.

Recent Times

After the Thunderhead incident, the MC-PD was given far more funding to avoid any future repeats. Top of the line equipment and gear. Arbiter was given the GAB-V3 suit and his new car a few months after the incident, and for the past five years, he has been trying to recover. Poorly. Erin did her best, but in the end she couldn't stay with someone so blatantly self destructive. Edward isn't sure where she left to. Maybe Cedar Fort or NYC.

That was the catalyst to start him back toward his feet. Too little, too late for their marriage, but just in time to save ET's liver from total annihilation. With a little bit of luck, he might make it back to a functioning adult in a few years.

For now, though...

Personality:

ET had a brother once. He's dead now, and it was ET's fault. That memory is years old, but still fresh as yesterday. It colors his world, draining the joy from his work, his hobbies, and his social life. Despite this, ET is a stubborn bastard, and the saying "time heals all wounds" is his modus operandi. His brother would have beat his ass for moping so much.

He goes to therapy (court-ordered, of course), and lives life one day at a time. Going through the motions, and all that. He is stubborn, and at the stage in his life where keeping his mind open to differing opinions is getting a little bit harder.

Before Dave's death, ET was the life of any party. That former fraternity president shines through on the good days; a dash of confidence bolstering his jovial laugh and a friendly smile. Professional, but quick to joke. He always had a listening ear for anyone who needed it, and a quick turn of phrase to bring a smile to their face.

Despite his slightly over-the-top actions in college and the recent slippage of his ethics, Ed has always possessed a strong sense of morality. In college he had another nickname: "Judge Turner". Constantly stopping others from making mistakes, and talking his fraternity brothers out of doing things that were unacceptable to his moral code (being big and built helped give ET's words some merit with his brothers). People went to his parties to enjoy themselves, and it was the responsibility of everyone hosting the party to protect the party-goers from unfavorable events.

Most of that is gone now. The decisions he made that led to his brother's death have left him more...flexible in where the line is drawn. The result matters more now, and making excuses for his actions is easier than reining them in. A gangbanger with a broken leg is less likely to run away and kill someone's brother, after all. The computer is on his side, anyway: any record of wrongdoing tends to vanish without notice.

Maybe in the future, Ed will rediscover the paragon he used to be. Until then, the rugged stubborn exterior works well enough to hide the internal struggle. The therapy is helping, and an inkling of the former social butterfly is coming through. And on the bad days, alcohol is always a good patch his self-loathing, right?

Misc Facts:

Addie and James Turner no longer live in the Midwest. ET convinced his parents to retire to Colorado when the Midwestern Sprawl started getting dangerous.

He is divorced from a fellow police officer.

He starts and stops going to AA meetings with some frequency.

His therapist's name is Sonya, a thirty-five year old woman with a wife, a child of her own, and a devilish wit. She keeps him honest.

Unlike many of the other heroes, Edward has always been one-hundred percent a team player. Not powerful enough to go solo, he relies on his experience, wit, gear, and training as much as his powers.

Relationship with Hex:

ET was always on good terms with Hex. Even as a pre-powered younger officer, Hex pulled him out of more than a few tight spots, supporting the fledgling MC-PD in its struggle to maintain order. After the manifestation, he and Hex spent much more time together, with Hex acting as a sort of hybrid researcher and guide to ET. After the death of his brother, ET recoiled from anything involving the supers lifestyle. The death of Hex, though, was too much of a weight on his conscience to ignore.

The man had never asked ET for anything, except to hold on to his goodness. Hearing about Hex's death sent ET down a memory lane that had been under maintenance for years. Suddenly, ET found himself questioning if he'd fallen too far to be redeemed. A little leave from the department would let him answer that question in Cedar Fort.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

<Snipped quote by Mercenary Lord>

Hey hey! Good to see you, pal!

@Atrophy

Likewise: looking forward to your no doubt delightful character

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

Color me interested.

@Atrophy

well look whomst it is